


The Courser and the Wolf

by Vysarene (Wrienne)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Original Content - Freeform, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrienne/pseuds/Vysarene
Summary: Ever since the start of the Inquisition, Cullen Rutherford kept his feelings for Ellana Lavellan a secret. He watched from afar as her relationship with Solas evolved and devolved, before it finally shattered her heart. Cullen was never able to confess his feelings, even as the Inquisition was disbanded and everyone went their different paths in life. He knew, however, that Ellana was far from done with her task, just as much as he knew his role in her life perhaps was over permanently. But five years later when a certain elf rogue and former Inquisitor knocks on his door, Cullen is pulled back into a bigger plot than ever.Whether to save or end the world of Thedas - and the woman he loves.First chapter breezes over what happens during Inquisition and Trespasser DLC. It will be an original story of what comes after from then on, if I have the time.





	1. What Has Been

Commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford of the Inquisition, previously templar and Knight-Captain, then Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, had always disliked Solas.

Being a mage - an apostate - aside, he had just not liked the elven man ever since they came across each other after the utter devastation of the Divine Conclave and a giant hole had been ripped open in the sky. No, seriously - it hadn't been just because he was a mage. Cullen’s disinclination toward magic users had changed, little by little, throughout the years. It had started already during the conflicts in Kirkwall, when he witnessed what Hawke had done for the city, despite being a mercenary apostate.

The reason why Cullen disliked Solas was far simpler than the long history of blood and more blood between templars and mages. In fact, the reason could be crystallized into two words.

The Inquisitor. 

An elven female of short, black hair, piercing violet, sometimes also pink eyes, and all the natural grace and elegance her people were known for. A woman who was as strong as she was strong-willed, a fact made so obviously clear one evening when the big group had been drinking at Herald’s Rest and Iron Bull challenged everyone to a test of might.

While Cullen, Blackwall, members of the Bull’s Chargers and a few brave souls of the Inquisition’s troops had stepped up to the task, they had all resigned after an arm wrestle or two, causing the rest of the tavern’s occupants to give up without trying. All but the Inquisitor, who despite being a mug or two in too much, had seemed strangely confident, even though the Iron Bull made fun of her slight frame. She had taken his taunts in dignified stride, and countered the three or maybe four-times larger Qunari with a challenge of her own: if he could shoot one single arrow, even a misfire, from her personal bow, she would supply him with all the redheads and sovereigns in southern Thedas.

“Are you quite serious, boss?” Iron bull had asked, an amused curve to his lips.

“I am... quite serious,” the Inquisitor had said, wearing a smile that had been more drunken than Cullen believed she had wanted it to be.

“All the redheads?”

“All… of them who are willing. Though, who wouldn’t… be willing to be with the person who bested Andraste’s very Herald?”

There had been a sliver of venom toward the end of her sentence. But Cullen doubted very many people had heard it over the booming laughter of Bull.

“You seem confident, boss,” the enormous qunari had said, grinning widely. “I probably shouldn’t ask this but since it seems like tonight is the night where the impossible might be possible, I’m going to anyways. Instead of any redheads, would _you_ be willing to offer yourself?”

At this, the Herald’s Rest had grown deathly silent in an instant. Everyone had stared, Cullen too; too breathless and shocked at the Bull’s audacity to speak or think anything. Or well, Cullen had thought two things.

The first thing had been that he was glad Solas considered himself too good to hang out at Herald’s Rest. The second thing had been that Iron Bull was a braver man than Cullen could ever be.

The tavern patrons had all waited in eager anticipation for the Inquisitor’s reaction. Cullen had thought she would hit Iron Bull and walk out of the Herald’s Rest in well-deserved indignity.

But she hadn’t. Instead, the Inquisitor had smiled nearly from one elongated elven ear to another.

“Why not?” the Inquisitor had said as she drained her tankard. “Let me just grab my bow from my quarters.”

This had caused Bull to laugh and slap his knee so loudly, Cullen had thought Krem would slap his chief out of irritation. The sudden noise, paired with the realization that the Inquisitor had agreed to the ludicrous deal, had broken everyone out of their petrified state. A searing hot betting match among the tavern crowd had ignited. Money had exchanged hands as freely as drinks as the Inquisitor walked - or rather, wobbled - out of Herald’s Rest.

Everyone had seemed certain that Iron Bull would outclass his boss. But Cullen hadn’t been so sure. His suspicion had been confirmed when Varric, a skilled businessman if any, had placed his bets discreetly. In the rowdiness of the tavern, as people slowly trailed out to watch the match, nobody but Cullen had seemed to really notice.

Cullen had been doubtful of the rogue storyteller. He had rarely been out on the field with the Inquisitor and the others. But Cullen had seen enough of her and Bull to be able to accurately judge their individual strength. Even if he hadn’t, a child would have been able to tell the difference in might between a female elf and a male qunari.

Even a child would have been able to tell that the knot inside Cullen’s stomach was rooted in something entirely else than mere professional concern for his and everybody else’s leader.

“I hope this isn’t some elaborate scheme to get me into bed, boss.”

Iron Bull and the Inquisitor had positioned themselves in the upper courtyard of Skyhold, by the stairs leading up to the main castle unit. Their target was on the other side of the courtyard and was one of the training dummies that Cassandra loved to abuse.

Everyone gathered around had been gawking at Iron Bull’s continued shamelessness. Although everyone was far deeper into their cups than perhaps usual, Bull could probably drink a literal bull under the table. And though he didn’t shy away from subjects of sexual nature, Cullen had never heard him be so blatant, especially toward the Inquisitor. Perhaps he really was drunk.

Or perhaps things on the field had developed their relationship toward… something untoward.

Cullen stood in the far back. Partly because he had been a beat too slow in his failed attempt to reach Varric and ask the dwarf about his bet. Partly because he hadn’t wanted anyone to see how often he looked toward the enormous castle doors, hoping and praying to Maker that a certain bald-headed elf wouldn’t be annoyed by the rowdy crowd outside and decide to steal a glance outside his strange study.

If the knot in Cullen’s stomach was any indication, Solas had reason for a far more justified reaction.

“I didn’t take you for a shy woman,” Iron Bull had continued. “If you wanted me so badly, you could have just asked.”

“Don’t flatter yourself yet, Bull,” the Inquisitor had said, a wolfish smile on her lips. “Gotta win first.”

“You can still back out, boss.”

“Back at you,” she had said, handing him her unstrung recurve bow and a bowstring. “Be careful not to pull one of your precious muscles on your precious rack. I would hate for our little challenge to ruin your very impressive physique.”

Bull had chuckled and started to wind the string around one bow tip. “Like that would happen. If your puny little stature can handle it, I’m more than…”

His voice had trailed away. As had the general murmur in the crowd surrounding them.

Because the enormously burly qunari had not been able to string the Inquisitor’s bow.

Cullen had felt like he was watching a miracle. Something even more wondrous and humanly - or well, elvenly - impossible than he already had when he saw the Inquisitor step out of the rift in Adamant Fortress.

Because where Iron Bull, the strongest fighter of them all, failed to even string the Inquisitor’s bow, the much smaller elven woman had no trouble stringing the bow and releasing a shot in one smooth movement.

The arrow had burrowed into the training dummy with enough power to rip open the canvas, exposing the straw and wood underneath. Cullen had been glad that Cassandra was too busy reading to not be in the present gathering either. When she inevitably would find out, however, she would surely be dismayed. Unless he was able to fix it beforehand.

For a moment, the crowd had stood still. But then a burst of surprised laughter and joyful shouts had erupted, filling the courtyard with noise. Money had exchanged hands once more.

Cullen didn’t miss the enormous pouch Varric sneakily had placed inside his coat. Blackwall had also seemed to bet on the Inquisitor, though not entirely as much as Varric had, receiving a handful silvers and coppers from all of Bull’s Chargers, Dorian and Sera.

The Inquisitor, smiling triumphantly at her win, had pushed her hair behind one ear and turned her amusement at Iron Bull. The qunari had stared, slack-jawed, at the elf.

“How about that, Bull?”

“This must be some scheme,” Iron Bull had said, frowning despite the good-natured glint in his eyes. “Give me one more try, boss.”

The Inquisitor had shrugged. “Very well.”

She had unstrung the bow and allowed Iron Bull one more try. Perhaps because he had observed the Inquisitor with his Ben-Hassrath skills, he was able to more swiftly mount the bowstring and bend the wood. But he was unable to fully string the bow, even after a third and then fourth time.

The Inquisitor, who had by then strung and fired her bow three times, didn’t wear a single sweat drop on her brow. Iron Bull’s gray skin was flushed from exertion when he finally voiced his defeat in the most dejected voice Cullen had ever heard.

A hooray coursed through the crowd. Most of them probably hadn’t even seen their elven leader’s skill with a bow and looked at her with admiration for perhaps more than the Mark for once.

“Are you really that disappointed you lost?” the Inquisitor had asked with not a little mocking smile. “I didn’t take you for a shy man, Bull. If you wanted me so badly, you could have just asked.”

At this, the corners of Iron Bull’s lips had lifted until he finally roared with laughter.

“Well played, boss,” he had said when he had calmed down. “Very well played. I’ve said this before, but you could really be a qunari.”

“Thank you,” the Inquisitor had said.

“You were never going to let me win, right boss?”

“With egg-head breathin’ down her pretty neck? Think not.”

It had been Sera, of course. People laughed like it had been a good joke. But Cullen could sense the underlying relief and curiosity that someone foolish - or perhaps brave enough - had voiced what everybody else had been thinking.

Rumors had simmered already back in Haven that the aloof elven apostate, who willingly had decided to remain in presence of templars and Chantry-believers, stayed due to more than just world-saving charity. Especially when he had been seen conversing with the Inquisitor almost exclusively.

Of course, there had always been the possibility that he talked to her merely because of the mysterious Mark. After all, they had never touched in public or been seen with each other save for outside Solas’ abode and when they were out on the field. Even if the two had been able to hide their affection from their other two companions, Leliana always had more than a dozen eyes and ears trained on the Inquisitor at all times. Cullen didn’t doubt the Inquisitor, but nobody was better at digging up things than Leliana. And since things had seemed innocuous on all fronts, Cullen had dismissed all the hearsay as merely that - hearsay. And for that, Ambassador Montilyet had advised to let the gossiping be.

The Inquisitor herself had always denied it, retorting quickly and humorously whenever the topic was brought up by one of her companions. Solas hadn’t even deigned to answer any comments, giving everyone, even the Inquisitor herself, cold glares at the mere joking suggestion.

That’s why there had always been a tiny part in Cullen that had hoped. That had wished, Maker be damned, that there maybe, just _maybe_ , had been a chance for him to, one day perhaps, confess that there was a knot in his stomach whenever he thought of her with another. Whenever she touched another man, even brushed shoulders with maybe a soldier while squeezing through one of the smaller corridors in Skyhold. Whenever she smiled and laughed at something Dorian had said, a Tevinter mage who seemed to enjoy her company unusually much despite his inclination.

But at that moment, he had realized there wasn’t any room in the Inquisitor’s heart for him.

Maybe it had been all the ale. Maybe it had been the adrenaline from the competition. Maybe it had been the crisp night air and the suddenness of the suggestion. Maybe it had been all three. But for the first time, Cullen saw the slender elven woman, stronger than Bull and more strong-willed than any person he had ever met, blush.

It hadn’t been obvious. It had just been something her closest companions and advisors would have noticed, if even them. Since everyone there had been drunk, they might have just disregarded it as a flush of the cold outside or the buzz of far too much ale. But Cullen had seen it for what it was.

His first instinct had been to deny it, which he did. But then he and only he had glanced up toward the castle proper. There had been a slender, unmistakably elven figure standing on the stone landing outside the door leading into the atrium from the outside of the edifice. It had been too dark for Cullen to discern any features, but the proud stance and eyeless, watchful stare was distinct enough.

And Cullen knew that he had lost.

“Don’t be silly, Sera,” the Inquisitor had said, her voice sounding muffled in his ears. “Now, who wants another round!”

The cheer had nearly drowned out Cullen’s thoughts as the crowd had gathered around Iron Bull and the Inquisitor, following them back toward Herald’s Rest. Cullen hadn’t gone with them, declining Blackwall’s attempt to bring him with. Instead, he had headed back to the battlements, toward the tower where his office and resting area was installed. He had been tipsy but not nearly drunk enough to handle the evening’s revelation, which had been why Cullen had grabbed a bottle of his strongest before he had climbed up the ladder.

Even if Cullen had managed to drown his memories in spirits that night, he wouldn’t have been able to continue drinking himself into oblivion during the rest of the year of the Inquisition. Especially not since he was off lyrium for the first time in many years. It would have made his mental state too labile, too explosive.

Too honest.

Because as the year passed and the Inquisitor managed to thwart foe after foe, rift after rift, her relationship with Solas intensified. Cullen wasn’t sure how many had noticed, but he had been certain that Leliana, Cassandra and Varric knew, even if they didn’t say anything. He was rather sure Iron Bull also knew, Tal-Vashoth as he later became. The jokes and suggestions gradually died down in the closest circle, however, which made Cullen fairly sure that even Cole was aware of the elven couple.

It had… hurt. Immensely in the beginning, more so when it continued.

But it didn’t last.

The state of the Inquisitor and Solas’ relationship had appeared more tightly intertwined than ever when suddenly the mood changed between them. Cullen doubted he was first to know since the battle against Corypheus had been closer than ever and he had been too busy losing sleep worrying over battle tactics and his troops to see the Inquisitor and her companions. In fact, he hadn’t noticed himself; it had been Leliana who shared the elves’ sudden separation.

For the first time in months, Cullen had allowed himself to hope again. And his hope had grown when the Inquisitor approached him and spent many hours with him in the war room, planning until late in the night. She had seemed her usual strong self, laughing and joking while simultaneously focused. A few times, she had even fallen asleep in a chair while he had gone to the kitchens for some food. Cullen had carried her back to her quarters, tempted on more than one occasion to remain for the night. To confess.

To tell her that he cared for her very much and wondered if she might care for him too.

He hadn’t, of course. Coward as he was, he couldn’t bear to burden her with his desires. After all, she was the Inquisitor. Herald of Andraste. He was her commander. There had been enough gossip circulating when she and Solas had been an item; he no doubted there would be so much more to say if people suspected _him_ of sharing her bed. Especially when people already were doing their best to undermine their organization.

So, no. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t tell her.

He couldn’t be with her.

But Cullen still hoped. There would come a time when the Inquisition wouldn’t be needed anymore. When the Inquisitor no longer would be “the Inquisitor”.

When she no longer murmured Solas’ name whenever he carried her back to bed after one too long evening of planning.

He had hoped that it would be after Corypheus had been defeated. After the greatest evil and threat against Thedas had been vanquished. Maybe then, Cullen would be able to admit his feelings for her. Maybe then, enough time and turmoil had passed for him to find purchase somewhere in the Inquisitor’s heart.

But when Solas disappeared after that fateful battle with Corypheus, Cullen realized that he had been holding onto fool’s hope. Everyone had been angry with Solas for his vanishing act. Everyone had felt betrayed that he wouldn’t deign to stay even a minute for the celebration. Everyone knew that despite what had maybe been or maybe not been between the apostate and the Inquisitor, he had only remained for that orb. The relationships people had formed with him, what brittle bridges of friendship they had managed to establish to him, had meant nothing.

Everyone knew. The Inquisitor knew. But contrary to everybody else, Cullen didn’t hear her speak ill of Solas even once. She moved on quicker than anyone too, returning to her straightforward attitude and confident smiles within a day.

But Cullen had caught her once or twice when she had lost that guise. When she had, she had just looked… sad.

Whatever the Inquisitor saw in the haughty, disloyal elf who had removed the Dalish tattoos on her countenance, was something nobody else could see. She saw something in the elven apostate that Cullen couldn’t distinguish no matter how many times he tried. No matter how many times he tried to place himself in her shoes, underneath the banner and weight of being Inquisitor, Cullen couldn’t possibly understand.

But he remained by her side anyway. Partly because she believed the Inquisition wasn’t fully done weeding out the Venatori agents in the south and he believed in her belief. Partly because his stupid, stupid sense of hope would not go away. His heart didn’t care that it hurt; it still wanted, still yearned.

So, Cullen remained one more year with the Inquisition. The organization managed to stabilize the lands, and he watched the Inquisitor’s sadness fade. Upon the second year, it was gone completely and she appeared just as she had when she had beaten Iron Bull in a match of strength. And when it finally came for the Inquisition to visit the Winter Palace and the new Divine for a political meeting that had been without its like ever since the Divine Conclave during the birth of the Inquisition, Cullen felt like he was riding next to the same strong, strong-willed elven woman who he had met then. Before the Mark started to grow and hurt after two years of dormancy. Before their old companions welcomed them with ale, open arms and a wrinkle extra or two in the premises of the Winter Palace. Before the Inquisitor discovered the qunari plot to overthrow the leaders of the biggest factions in southern Thedas.

Before the Inquisitor--no, _Ellana Lavellan_ returned from beyond the mysterious mirrors known as Eluvians - wearing nothing but chasmic, nightmarish agony on her bare elven features.

Cullen had been there when she returned to the Winter Palace, delayed from her other three companions. With a missing arm, he and the others had rushed to Ellana’s side, nauseous with concern over her health. But then they realized that she wasn’t injured and that the skin and flesh had fused and healed, unmarred and impossibly perfect where her left arm should have been attached. There hadn’t been even a single drop of blood on her equipment as she collapsed in Cullen’s arms, more exhausted than anything.

No, Ellana had been whole. Whole but hollow. For Cullen had quickly realized that the pain on her face, in her streaming violet, sometimes pink eyes, was something else.

None of Ellana’s companions who had emerged before her had asked what had happened. Dorian and Varric had both been shutting their mouths for once, and Cassandra, the new Divine, had regarded Ellana with enough sympathy that Cullen almost had expected the hardened, Nevarran Seeker to let out a tear herself.

“It… it’s a long story, Curly.”

Of course it had been Varric who broke the silence first. But at least he had had the courtesy to wait until Ellana had fallen unconscious.

Cullen had cradled Ellana closer, partly to keep her off the cold, marble floor and partly because he needed reassurance that she really was fine. He had raised a hand; he hadn’t needed to hear it to know. He had recognized Ellana’s hurt for what it was.

Heartbreak.

After carrying her back to her quarters, Cullen was perhaps the only one who had remained firmly seated when Dorian, Varric and Cassandra had retold their excursion into the Eluvians and finally revealed the qunari plot before the Exalted Council. He had clenched his fists together when they said that treacherous elven apostate’s name, declaring his reascension and true nature as an elven god.

 _Fen’Harel_ \- the Dread Wolf.

Their revelations had sparked a wild debate in the great meeting hall. Fereldens and Orlesians shouted over each other, and members of the Inquisition also seemed to have a difficulty remaining still and quiet. Cullen had thought Cassandra might rip off her hat and smack the representatives sitting on her right and left side with it, and he had noticed that even the famously cold Nightingale was scowling visibly in her corner of the hall.

The pandemonium had only devolved the more time passed, and the more Cassandra tried to exert order. It didn’t take long before it was nearly an all-out brawl. However, just before Cullen feared he might have to defend Ambassador Montilyet with his sword, the great wooden doors in the far back of the meeting hall had slammed open. Cullen had feared for who it might be, not wanting the nobles from either side to see her pain for what it was, to take advantage of her like vultures upon rotted corpses.

But to his surprise, Ellana had appeared strong, stronger than ever as she strode into the center of the room. All eyes were on her and voices had died out as swiftly as a candlelight in a draft. The attention must have been searing, yet Cullen noticed not even a hint of hesitation or fear or any of her earlier pain when she lifted a familiar tome over her head.

“I announce the Inquisition disbanded!”

There had been anger in her voice, frustration. But also more determination than Cullen had ever heard, which was saying a lot. And he knew that despite what she told everyone in the chaotic aftermath that followed, despite what she told Blackwall - now Thom Rainier - Iron Bull, Cole, Sera, Varric, Dorian and Vivienne, despite what she told him, she had a plan. She hadn’t ended the organization because she had wanted to retire, perhaps return to her clan. She hadn’t ended the organization because she was tired of fighting, tired of the burden of responsibility.

She had ended it because she was starting something new. And despite what Cullen’s head told him, despite the fact that his desire for something more had been proven foolish and wrong time after time, his heart still refused to give up.

He still had hope.

“No.”

Ellana might as well have slapped him. The word, the instant rejection, had hurt far more than anything he could have anticipated.

“W-why?” Cullen had managed between one nervous breath and another. “I know you aren’t done--”

Abruptly, Ellana had pulled him through the small door opening leading into her room. While it wasn’t wholly appropriate, Cullen couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration through his body when Ellana had pressed close. Not because she had wanted to get close to him; no, she had been trying to see past him into the lavishly decorated corridor outside.

Even though she was smaller than him, Cullen couldn’t help but feel insignificant. Ellana was such a force of power, be it when she smiled, frowned, laughed or cried - or did nothing. Her violet, sometimes also pink eyes sparkled in the light of the candles next to the door as she looked up at him and shut the door. There was a slightly accusatory frown to her brows.

“Have you forgotten yourself?” she had demanded. “We’re in the Winter Palace. There are more eyes and ears around us right here than anywhere else on Thedas.”

“I-I apologize,” Cullen had said, unable to formulate anything more eloquent with the former Inquisitor so close to him. “I forgot myself. I do apologize, Inquis--”

He had cut himself off. Ellana had smiled at him, finally taking a step back. Cullen had wanted to stop her, had wanted to pull her even closer, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to.

He was a coward.

“You finally don’t have an excuse to hide behind,” she had said teasingly. “Do you even know my name, Cullen?”

 _Thousand times over_ , he had wanted to say. He didn’t.

“Of course… Ellana.”

She had tilted her head to the side, peering curiously at him.

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I am,” he had said, clearing his throat. “I mean, I do know your name. It’s Ellana. That’s why I said it.”

Inwardly, Cullen had wanted to smack his head into the door. Outwardly, he had done his best to not appear flustered when Ellana laughed.

“No need to sound so formal,” she had said, amusement lingering on her lips like morning dew on grass. “I’m an one-armed cripple now. I can’t even bow according to the standards of this country anymore.”

“There are far too many regulations and rules among the Orlesian nobility,” Cullen had said with a slight smile of his own. “I don’t think they know half of them themselves, and the other half is probably just made up as they go.”

“Ah, the Grand Game,” Ellana had said in agreement, letting her eyes drift away. “I’d rather fight Corypheus again than be stuck here for a week.”

“Agreed,” Cullen had said, shivering.

Ellana had laughed again. Cullen had been transfixed. He hadn’t been able to wrap his head around how she could laugh so quickly after wearing an expression so devastated, Cullen had thought Ellana would never smile again.

If that had happened, Cullen would have tracked down Solas--no, this _Fen’Harel_ himself and dealt with him. No matter the price.

“But to continue where we left off before you forgot our location…”

Cullen had watched Ellana sink down in one of two obnoxiously ornate armchairs before the fireplace in the room. She had gestured at the one before her. He had taken the hint and sat down, carefully.

“Yes,” Cullen had said, feeling his smile evaporate when Ellana’s features had hardened. “I know you’re not done. I know you’re going to try and stop him.”

 _Him_. Ellana might have thought that Cullen wouldn’t notice, but he had. There had been no denying the agony in her eyes, the open rupture in her chest. She hadn’t been bleeding, but that hadn’t meant she hadn’t been wounded.

She had been. Maybe mortally so.

“I guess there’s no hiding from someone who’s been one of my advisors for so long,” Ellana had said.

“No,” Cullen had said in a neutral tone, hoping she hadn’t been able to discern the pain in his voice. “I’m here because I’m willing to aid you with whatever you, the Seeker and Spymaster Nightingale have planned.”

Ellana had raised a brow. “You’re far more sharp-eyed than Dorian ever gave you credit for. And that man gave you a lot.”

Cullen had grimaced. “I hope you informed Magister Pavus that I’m not interested. Never was.”

“He was never interested in you either,” Ellana had said, eyes glittering with mirth. “You’re just too… templar-y. He found you appealing to look at, that is all. As do many, I hear.”

Cullen had sighed, even though her final comment had made his heart beat a little quicker.

“Yes, well. I know you’re merely trying to change subject… Ellana. Please, let us return to the right topic. What the three of you have in mind, it… it has to do with him, doesn’t it?”

Ellana’s glee had vanished, like rogue clouds covering the sun a summer afternoon.

“It does,” she had admitted slowly. “The Inquisition was simply too large. Too cumbersome. A smaller, more confined unit will prove far more successful, in my opinion.”

“Then I want in,” Cullen had said, sitting straighter. “You’ll need all the help you can get. And I’m sure I’ve proven my loyalty, if not capability, over the last three years.”

Ellana had inspected his face. Cullen had started to feel self-conscious by the time she spoke.

“Yes, Cullen. But…”

Cullen’s heart stopped beating. “But…?”

Ellana had rested her head in the palm of her hand, letting out a long exhale as her violet eyes drifted toward the burning fireplace.

“You’re a good man, Cullen. Better than most.”

“I-I wouldn’t precisely say that--” he had started.

“You are. It is good to be humble, but self-knowledge is not a poor quality. Since you don’t appear to think so yourself, I’m here to remind you that you are a good man. Very much so, in fact.”

“I…”

Cullen had swallowed when Ellana arched an eyebrow in his direction. He had cleared his throat and gone on.

“Thank you.”

Ellana had smiled faintly. “There you go. Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“No,” Cullen had lied.

Ellana had chuckled, completely seeing through him once more. But her amusement had faded quickly as she had continued.

“Truth is, Cullen, we know nothing about… him. And after tonight, we’ll be a three-man army, if even that. Cassandra is the Divine - she cannot be roaming about the countryside, digging up elfroot for potions and gathering precious minerals for blacksmithing. She needs to unite the Chantry and stand as its leader as Divine Victoria. And while I’m sure Leliana may be able to contact Scout Harding and perhaps a few of hers, our sphere of influence and power won’t be anywhere near as expansive and significant as the Inquisition's. It… it will be very hard, for all of us.”

“So?” Cullen had said, furrowing his brows. “Hardships come and go.”

Ellana had made a face. “Yes, but I don’t believe we’ll be able to do much in a while. Even though I try to be optimistic - I mean, it was my choice to end the organization so I’d better be content with what we’re capable now, as little as it may be - I cannot lie to you. Cass and Leliana have agreed to pursue this, despite the difficulties. We’re dedicated and--”

“Are you saying I cannot be?” Cullen had interrupted, feeling insulted. “Am I not as trustworthy as the others?”

“It’s really not that, Cullen.”

Ellana had seemed pained as she regarded him. “You’ve been through so much over the years. Ever since the Heroine of Ferelden’s time, you’ve been affected by the changes in the world. I’m not quite saying that you’re old but--”

“But you are saying I am old,” Cullen had said dryly.

“Hey, at least you’ve still got both of your arms.”

Cullen had sighed, for once not charmed by Ellana’s sometimes questionable sense of humor.

“With all due respect, Ellana--”

“Be happy.”

Cullen had stared at Ellana.

“What?” he had asked.

She had given him a weary smile that didn’t quite fit with her elven, still youthful features.

“I’ve gotten this feeling throughout the years,” she began quietly, “that you were never quite satisfied with your life in the Inquisition. The feeling got stronger the more time we spent together, and although I wanted to ask you, I was always too afraid to ask. You’re a good man and former templar, so you wouldn’t have abandoned your sense of duty when the sky threatened to pour legions of demons upon our world. But now that that ordeal is over, you’re free to do what you want. I don’t want you to feel obligated to follow me through an even bigger ordeal out of loyalty.”

 _It’s not out of loyalty_ , Cullen had wanted to say. _It’s out of--_

“You mentioned that you never made any vows to stay out of marriage.”

Cullen’s breath had caught in the back of his throat. He had coughed, blushing when Ellana’s gaze turned amused as she watched him recover.

“Y-yes,” he had said, hoping he wasn’t blushing as hard as it felt he was. “Indeed I didn’t. Nor of…”

“Celibacy. I remember.”

Cullen had been unable to look Ellana in the eyes at that point. Embarrassed, he had stared far off to the side, doing his best to calm his burning face. He hadn’t noticed Ellana until she had placed a hand on his shoulder, standing right next to his armchair.

Cullen had stiffened from head to toe. He hadn’t known what to think.

What to expect.

“Be happy, Cullen. You’ve already served Thedas enough for a lifetime. Any templar would be proud of their order, knowing you were once part of it. Knowing you managed to wean off lyrium all on your own.”

 _Wrong_ , Cullen had thought. _I was so close to relapse when you found me at my desk with the tools. When you told me to not do it, I couldn’t deny your command._

 _I couldn’t deny you_.

“You’re an inspiration to so many, my former Commander.”

Ellana had worn a tender smile as she looked down at Cullen with all the sincerity in the world. “You deserve to rest. A wife lucky enough to marry you and children who will all be as shy and well-mannered and loyal as you. That mabari outside seems like a good starting point; I've heard they choose one master and will only listen to him or her. You seem to already share that bond.”

“Ellana, I--”

“Cullen,” Ellana had interjected sharply, before her expression softened once more. “You deserve more. Don’t waste your chance at happiness to chase mine.”

Cullen had opened his mouth to protest, but Ellana hadn’t allowed him to. She had bent down and pressed a quick peck on his cheek before she headed toward the door. Cullen watched her leave, knowing that she drifted away from his reach with each step. He had wanted to rise, to follow her and grab her by the wrists. He had wanted to turn her around and tell her how he felt about her, how he had always felt about her. How chasing her happiness was his happiness too.

How she, everything about her, with her, was his happiness.

But Cullen hadn’t risen. He had been petrified in the armchair, lost to the sparks and crackling of the fireplace.

Ellana hadn’t wanted to drag her into her personal business. She hadn’t wanted any of her companions to follow her chase after the Dread Wolf.

She had wanted to shoulder as much of that responsibility herself. And he was too much of a coward to ask her to share that burden.

Cullen Stanton Rutherford, formerly Commander of the Inquisition, previously templar and Knight-Captain, then Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, had always disliked Solas. That dislike slowly, throughout the months that passed as Cullen tried to find his place in the world, away from Ellana and everybody from the Inquisition, morphed into pure hatred.

Yes, Cullen grew to hate Solas. Solas had scarred Ellana, the very epitome of strength and grace, beyond the point of return. And that meant she would always forever remain his, even though he had shattered her heart. Nobody else would ever have room in her thoughts.

Yet still, Cullen couldn’t stop the bright flame of hope that burst to life within him when he woke up to his loyal mabari barking in the middle of the stormy night - and he opened the door to his cottage to find Ellana Lavellan outside.


	2. Past Meets Present

“B-been a while, Cullen.”

Despite being drenched in the pouring rain, with lips as blue as her piercing violet eyes and teeth clattering loud enough that Cullen was surprised he hadn’t been able to hear her before he had opened the door, even with the thunder and lightning, Ellana Lavellan didn’t look any less dignified and graceful than he remembered her. Cullen thought that he was dreaming and rubbed the remainder of sleep out of his eyes.

The elf rogue remained. Her shapely lips formed a confident smile as she blinked up at him, water streaming down her face.

“D-don’t tell me you’ve f-forgotten about me a-already,” she said, trembling in the cold.

“Maker,” breathed Cullen, too stunned for any other response.

Ellana’s smile widened. “Not q-quite. But a c-close guess, I’ll g-give you that.”

“Ellana.”

Cullen swallowed. He hadn’t uttered that name in years. But it didn’t sit as strange in his mouth as one might have imagined. In fact, it still held that same, familiar quality about it, like it had been only yesterday that he had been part of the Inquisition. Like it had been only yesterday that he had addressed her as Inquisitor and managed troop movements together in the war room until she had fallen asleep in her chair, too dedicated - and stubborn - to retire for the night before the day’s events caught up to her.

Cullen had thought that he would never see the elven woman again. Hope, pitiful and pathetic as it was, blossomed within him once more.

“T-that’s right. Might you be so i-inclined as to let an old friend s-stay for the night? I could c-camp outside, of course. B-but as you can see what with the lovely weather o-of the Storm Coast this time of year, I probably won’t s-survive the night.”

Cullen stepped aside immediately. With a grateful nod, Ellana slipped inside, only to freeze one step in.

“Ah,” she said, looking up at him with a knowing smile. “S-so you did listen to m-my advice.”

The mabari that Cullen had purchased and brought with from the Winter Palace watched Ellana suspiciously. It sat on its haunches, lips curled back, revealing massive teeth through which a low growl escaped. He was fully grown, his withers reaching up to the rogue’s waist, no doubt at least twice her weight. Yet Ellana was fearless.

She crouched and held out a hand, staying quiet and firm despite the mabari’s increasing growling. Cullen opened his mouth to warn the hound but was hushed.

After the initial friction, the mabari tentatively approached the elf, curiosity replacing its territorial nature. Cullen watched in awe as the hound sniffed Ellana’s open palm before it bumped its enormous snout against her, begging to be petted. She obliged instantly, laughing when the mabari nearly knocked her over in its eagerness to receive affection.

“What a good dog,” said Ellana, cooing at the mabari as it licked her on the cheek. She looked up at Cullen with a wide smile. “What’s his name?”

“Atlas,” said Cullen, giving the mabari a dry look when he barked in agreement. “He’s not supposed to lick strangers in the face.”

Ellana laughed.

“Don’t be jealous, Cullen. Animals like us tree-huggers. We’ve got a natural bond with wildlife, especially hunters such as myself.”

 _How fitting,_ Cullen thought with not a little bitterness, _that your former lover goes by the title of Dread Wolf._

“Where’s your wife and child?”

Cullen nearly choked on his breath. Fortunately, he had turned away to shut and bar the door, which meant he might be able to calm his treacherous cheeks before he had to meet her eyes again. A lot of time had passed since he had seen the former Inquisitor. Perhaps he had gotten better at disguising his feelings. Perhaps time had changed things between them; made her more jaded, him less transparent.

But the amused look on Ellana’s features said he was anything but discreet when he finally faced her.

“No such luck yet, huh?”

“I guess I haven’t had the time,” said Cullen, placing a wood log into the dying fire.

“Must be. Five years later and you’re still as ruggedly handsome as I remember you.”

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly and settled on a chair next to the fireplace.

“It’s been five years already?” he said in an attempt to change the subject.

Ellana shuffled closer to the growing fire, stretching out her legs and arms toward the flames. Atlas whined as he padded closer, disappointed that she no longer tended to that favorite spot behind his ear. Ellana smiled at the mabari and scratched him into submission, the famously fierce Fereldan breed settling right next to her leg like a pampered Orlesian lapdog. For a brief moment, Cullen felt jealousy toward the hound.

“Can’t you tell?” said Ellana, still shivering as she gazed up at Cullen. “I haven’t aged nearly as well as you.”

She was wrong. Her black hair was much longer now, reaching past her waist even though it was bound in a ponytail high up her head. Her armor and equipment were unfamiliar but Ellana didn’t look a day over the fateful day that she had stepped out of the first major rift with a mysterious mark. Speaking of which…

“Your arm,” said Cullen, realizing that Ellana possessed both of her arms again. “It’s back.”

“Not… quite.”

Cullen looked away immediately when Ellana peeled out of her leather coat.

“No, look.”

Cullen slowly shifted his attention back toward her. Her shirt was glued tight to her slender form, revealing every line and curve. It would have made him blush if it weren’t for the shock of seeing what had replaced Ellana’s left arm.

Underneath the former Inquisitor’s coat, Ellana wore a fitted leather glove that covered the fingers of her left arm, all the way up to her shoulder. She undid the bindings by her shoulder and pulled off the glove with some difficulty, revealing something Cullen had never seen before.

A mechanical contraption sat fastened to her torso with leather straps that curled underneath and over her other shoulder. It was an arm made of metal, with gears and cogs that spun interconnectedly as she moved it around just as if it were a regular limb. Smooth plates covered a majority of the limb, protecting the sensitive mechanism beneath, giving it a semblance of humanoid anatomy. The telltale glow of lyrium-etched runes emanated from certain parts, but if Ellana hadn’t discarded the glove, Cullen wouldn’t have been able to tell that it hid something other than a real arm.

It was... uncanny.

“Maker,” he breathed, equal parts amazed and dismayed by the craftsmanship. “How…?”

“Dwarven.”

Ellana smiled faintly as she held up the arm, seemingly able to control it like it were part of her body. “Varric knew that Bianca might know someone who knew someone, who knew somebody else, who said they might know someone, who maybe had heard of a person who could help replace my missing limb.”

“So,” said Cullen, furrowing his brows. “It’s something illegal.”

“Not really. But we might have had to break Varric’s contact out of a prison… or two.”

“And the cost for its construction?”

“Just regular ol’ sovereigns,” said Ellana, smiling innocently. “And I ran all over Thedas to find the necessary materials myself. There’s no blood magic or other forbidden sorcery going on here, I promise. So, don’t you go all templar on me.”

“But how do you control it?” asked Cullen, his frown deepening. “I never took you for a magic-wielder.”

Ellana tucked long strands of escaped hair behind her elven ear, revealing a blue gem embedded into her earlobe. Or well, to the less-trained eye, it may have looked like a sapphire or the like. But Cullen knew it for what it was: lyrium, encapsulated by some sort of hard, transparent material. Perhaps glass, but he doubted that would be able to protect against the harmful effects of lyrium.

“I don’t even know myself,” said Ellana, reaching out toward the flames again. “It was difficult in the beginning, but now that I’ve gotten used to it, I don’t feel any different than before. Well, save for the matter that I can take off my left arm and have it run around like a little critter. Makes for a hilarious number at taverns and inns. Until they accuse you of blood magic, of course.”

She grinned at him. Cullen inspected Ellana dubiously, unamused, but she didn’t budge. When he deemed that she seemed to be honest about the lack of dark sorcery, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

“How the Inquisitor has fallen,” he said. “From once leading the most powerful organization in Thedas, to scrounging up some ore here and there.”

“Hey, the arm isn’t that new anymore. I’m not turning over stones nowadays.”

Cullen had so much he wanted to ask. So much he wanted to know. But when Ellana yawned so widely he feared her jaw would dislocate, Cullen decided that his questions could wait.

“Take the bed,” he said, nudging his head in the direction of his bedroom, the only other room in the small wooden cottage that he had called his home during the last year.

“I can sleep right here,” said Ellana immediately. “I didn’t mean to impose, I just…”

 _What are you doing here, Ellana?_ he wanted to ask. _Why have you returned to my life? I thought…_

“Out of the question,” said Cullen. “You look as sick and frozen as you were when we found you after the destruction of Haven.”

Ellana smiled faintly. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad,” said Cullen. It was a lie, of course. Nothing could make Ellana look bad.

Nothing except for when _his_ presence was reminded.

“I have dry clothes and towels stashed in the drawers,” continued Cullen. “Put your armor outside the door once you’ve changed. I’ll put them to dry in front of the fire.”

“Cullen, I’m fine with the floor. Really, I just need maybe a blanket. And dry clothes do sound nice. And a bed…”

Cullen raised a brow. Ellana laughed. He was dazzled. The sound, the sight of her - it was just the same.

“Fine,” she said, rising slowly. “I concede.” She sent him a wry look. “So this is how our troops felt when they were led by you.”

“Wh-whatever do you mean?” said Cullen, hoping the darkness of the cabin was enough to hide the color in his cheeks.

Ellana laughed again as she draped her coat over her shoulders. She headed toward his bedroom, patting Atlas, who had followed her, one more time before she shut the door behind her.

That’s when Cullen realized that she had been limping.

He glanced at the floorboards where Ellana had been sitting. There was a dark spot on the rough wood. Not strange, considering how soaked she had been. But…

Cullen crouched and swiped two fingers across the spot. His fingertips came away wearing streaks of blood.

Atlas approached Cullen. The mabari sniffed the wooden floor and let out a whine once he looked up at Cullen. That confirmed it.

“Ellana?”

Cullen knocked gently on the door to his bedroom. “Are you… are you quite alright?”

“Of course,” came the answer immediately. “I just need some sleep. How so?”

“Well…” Cullen looked at his fingers. “I thought you might be injured. There’s… blood on the floorboards.”

There wasn’t any response. Cullen waited, but when the silence prolonged, he knocked once more.

“Ellana?”

Again, there was no answer.

Cullen pursed his lips. “Ellana, I’m coming in.”

Cullen took a deep breath, hesitating more than once before he pushed open the door. He was ready to shut the door immediately should he find Ellana in a… compromising state. When he spotted her, however, he didn’t know what to think.

With most of her armor and equipment discarded, Ellana was utterly exposed in but her drenched shirt and smallclothes. Cullen was ashamed to admit that his eyes immediately darted to the comely shape of her legs and backside, where they rested longer than anyone would have deemed appropriate. His attraction to her, as base and primitive as it might sound, was due to more than just her overwhelming presence, after all.

Though, the reason his attention didn’t stray was more than one. Attraction aside, blood spilled from a wound on the inner side of her thigh, previously hidden by the long tail of her leather coat and the dark, water-soaked leather of her leggings. It looked to have been caused by a blade, the long, slender gash running horizontally across the muscle. It didn’t trace deep, but Cullen had enough experience from battle to know that cuts like hers stung more badly than most.

“You’re wounded,” said Cullen, frowning with concern. “What happened?”

If Ellana felt uncomfortable or embarrassed wearing so little around Cullen, she didn’t show it. Which, in turn, hurt him more than if she would have thrown a dagger or fired an arrow at him for his intrusion, albeit an announced one. Was he truly so insignificant, so truly out of her mind and heart that she didn’t feel the need to cover herself? Was he truly nothing more than her former commander, their ties built upon nothing more than pure professional respect?

Was he not a man, not even a candidate for one, in Ellana’s piercing violet eyes?

“I stumbled over bandits. Lots of them.”

Ellana grimaced as she glanced at her injury. The gesture made her bend over, putting her in an even more compromising position.

“You’d think that the blasted rain would keep those nasty bastards indoors. After all, nobody sane would be riding around in the middle of the night, in weather like this, for them to rob anyway.”

Cullen tore his gaze away. He only barely mustered enough of his old templar training discipline to keep his lust at bay.

“Nobody sane, huh?” he said.

Ellana laughed.

“Walked right into that one, did I?”

“I’m guessing you ran out of potions?”

“And traps and bombs. Unfortunately.”

She sniffed her wet hair and made a face. “Poisons smell awful when they don’t immediately kill you.”

Cullen turned around. “You should sit. I’ll return with poultice and bandages.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.”

Cullen nodded and left the room. He wasn’t an herbalist but he had served long enough to remember a recipe or two. After mixing alcohol and dried elfroot in a bowl, Cullen returned to the bedroom.

Ellana sat awkwardly at the very edge of the bed, probably in an attempt to keep her bleeding from the bedding. Her hair had been tightly confined in a towel cocoon on top of her head, leaving her face and shoulders bare. She wore one of his tunics, which was far too large for her, her own clothes and equipment strewn across the floor nearby her. Her mechanical arm was covered once more but her legs were bare.

Cullen knew that her semi-nudity found reason in the cut on her thigh. But it took longer than it should have for him to rummage through his drawers for bandages. The sight of her, her presence, it was like he had woken to find his dreams realized. Not the part where she was drenched and injured.

No, it was the part where she had returned to him.

“Thank you. I think I can take over from now.”

Ellana smiled as she rose and took the bowl mixture and the bandages out of Cullen’s hands. There had been nothing about her voice that had made her seem awkward or uncomfortable with his close proximity. On the contrary, she had sounded apologetic that she was stealing his time. His suspicion was confirmed when she continued.

“I do apologize for barging in like this, Cullen. And really, I don’t need the bed. I’ll survive.”

“As shall I,” said Cullen firmly. “You’re injured, Ellana. You need better rest than me.”

Ellana sank down on the edge of the bed again, placing the poultice and the bandages carefully next to her.

“Not at the cost of yours.”

Cullen shook his head and began gathering Ellana’s belongings.

“I will be fine,” he said. “I’m staying up for a bit to tend to the fire. Let me know if there is anything else that you require.”

Ellana seemed to want to protest and argue further with him on the topic of the bed. But ultimately, she gave him a faint smile.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said, the light from the tiny candle on the nightstand casting a warm glow across her tired face.

Cullen nodded, leaving and shutting the door with a towel and her equipment in his arms.

 _Breathe_ , Cullen told himself as he placed her armor before the fire. _Just because Ellana has found you doesn’t mean anything. She might have stumbled upon you on mere accident. After all, your chimney is the only one smoking for miles around. She must have seen it and come to hide from the storm._

Cullen plucked another chopped piece of wood from the small pile next to the front door. He tossed it into the fireplace and poked the embers around until he was satisfied with the renewed flickering of the flames. Upon which, Cullen settled down next to the hearth and wiped down everything of Ellana’s belongings that bore metal with the towel, dedicating extra effort into drying her recurve bow, arrows and daggers.

Leaving a wide berth between himself and the darkened spot where Ellana had shed blood, Atlas fell asleep next to Cullen. The big mabari snored, a soothing sound that would have lulled Cullen to sleep if it weren’t for the whirlpool of thoughts in his head.

 _Ellana_ , he thought as he put down her seventh and final dagger. _Why are you here?_

Between the hound and the hearth, Cullen sat in relative warmth, even without a blanket. During templar training, he had slept on the raw ground many times, meaning the rough floorboards weren’t as uncomfortable as one might have thought.

Cullen didn’t know how long he sat before the fire. When sleep finally crawled back to conquer his waking thoughts, he got settled quite easily.

But it didn’t take long before he awoke to someone touching his back.

At first, Cullen thought it was Atlas, readjusting in his sleep. But when the unmistakable sensation of a humanoid hand ghosted over his shoulder, he stiffened, his nerves instantly shooting to full alert.

“Sorry.”

It was Ellana’s voice, but a whisper.

“Your bed was comfortable and all but I am freezing,” she continued, amusement lining her tone. “I really don’t have the luxury to lose more limbs than I already have. I’m too old to travel all across southern Thedas, turning over stones in search for ore again, I tell you.”

“I--” started Cullen.

“The bed is yours,” she interrupted teasingly. “Sleeping this close to the hearth next to Atlas should be adequate in thawing my poor toes and fingers. Not that you aren’t a good source of warmth. But I don’t want to disturb your sleep.”

Even though Cullen wanted to turn around and look at her, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist temptation. Having her snuggled between his back and Atlas was more than enough of a challenge, especially since she seemed so direly in need of warmth. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. He wanted to place her hands in his.

But Cullen did none of that.

“There is no need to worry about me right now,” he replied. “I will remain.”

“Are you sure? There is a perfectly fine bed just a few feet away.”

Cullen smiled. “I am. Rest well, Ellana.”

She shifted slightly against his back. He heard a smile bleed into her voice as well as she responded.

“All right. You too, Cullen. It... it's nice seeing you again. You haven't changed a bit.”

Within a few moments, the soft, calm breathing of Ellana Lavellan reached Cullen's ears. A person he had never expected to hear from, even less see again, the elf rogue and former Inquisitor was back in his life.

Even though he had managed to fall asleep moments earlier, Cullen found himself wide awake. He blamed it on the thunder and the rain hammering the roof of the cabin, but he knew it was a lie. Her words kept him up.

 _You haven't changed a_ _bit_.

Time would tell that he really hadn't.


	3. The Mission

Cullen woke to the sound of birds twittering their morning tunes. There was nothing unusual about it - a part of his everyday routine, something that he had grown accustomed to ever since he made the abandoned cabin he found one venture through the Storm Coast his new home.

What was unusual was the harmonizing melody that was far too soft and familiar, and the smell of yesterday’s stew boiling _without_ his initiative.

Cullen woke with a jolt.

“Slept well?”

Cullen recognized her voice immediately - the Inquisitor.

Or well, no. Not anymore.

 _Ellana_.

Cullen scrambled around, finding himself lying on the floor and Ellana Lavellan standing by the worn cooking table, pouring hot vegetable soup into two bowls. His abrupt reaction earned him a quirked brow and a mildly amused bend to her slightly parted lips. Her violet eyes glimmered, more piercing than ever in the dawnlight that spilled in through the opened window shutters.

Ellana looked like a dream.

“What…”

Cullen rubbed his eyes, the fatigue of sleep clinging to him still. A tiny part of him didn’t expect her to be there when he looked. That she was simply too unobtainable. A dream. But Ellana remained where she had been standing once he opened his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he finished.

“Do you not remember?” she parried, her smile widening. “I desperately hope you do not treat all women this way, Cullen. That would explain a lot, however.”

Cullen’s face came ablaze. “I-I…”

Ellana laughed. The sound filled the whole cabin, brighter and more beautiful than even the most exquisite of silver Chantry bells or famous of Orlesian concert bands. He watched her, transfixed momentarily in awe - once again questioning the validity of her presence.

Cullen’s focus trailed downward. Ellana was wearing one of his tunics but nothing underneath, leaving her slender legs exposed. His attention lingered longer than he was willing to admit, unable to ignore the comely way her profile curved and sloped. But when Ellana’s eyes returned to find him, Cullen was quick to turn his gaze to the gauze wrapped around her thigh.

The cut on her leg. Bandits. A stormy night and blood on the floorboards. A cold, small hand that had used his shoulder briefly as support as a figure settled behind him and next to a snoring Atlas.

Ellana wasn’t a dream. The night hadn’t been a desperate figment of his imagination, or a lethal encounter in his dream, in the Fade, with a Desire demon.

Ellana was really there.

“I… I apologize.”

Cullen sat up awkwardly, hip and shoulder stiff on the side he had been sleeping on. He grimaced as he stretched out - sleeping on floorboards hadn’t felt much better than the outdoors. In fact, he might have actually preferred a bedroll and the wet of dew in the morning to the cold, numb ache currently ailing his limbs. But maybe it was just his age haunting him.

“You should have woken me,” he said, adjusting his appearance as much as he dared to without revealing just how self-conscious he felt without his armor. Without the war table between them.

Without a lot of clothes on her.

“Why?”

Ellana cut a few slices of bread and placed three pieces in one bowl, two in the other. She approached him with a dancer’s grace and settled, cross-legged, in front of him. Fortunately, his tunic was long enough to cover her most vital parts. But there was still far too much thigh and cleavage showing for Cullen to remain indifferent.

If Ellana noticed the warmth in his cheeks, she did not voice it. She merely offered him the bowl with the three slices of bread and began diving into the other, seemingly ravenous with hunger.

“Well?” she prodded.

Cullen blushed harder when he realized that he had been too busy staring to answer her. He glanced down at his bowl, breathing in the steaming stew that was soaking into the bread.

“You’re injured and a guest,” he said. “When did you rise? Where’s Atlas?”

“He’s been patrolling the area for a while.”

Ellana looked up from the stew, smiling with a trail of breadcrumbs dotting the corner of her mouth. “He appeared very insistent to do so. I suspect that is your doing.”

For a moment, time ceased. Cullen was utterly focused on the breadcrumbs. He wanted to reach out toward her and brush them away. But that would mean touching her and he could not do that.

Not without becoming greedy. Not without wanting to ask for more.

And he dared not to do that.

“Ah, well.”

Cullen cleared his throat, bread stopping halfway up to his mouth. He didn’t miss the fact that she had avoided his first question. But he did not want to pry.

Maker knows he had had his share of nightmares throughout the years.

“I suppose I’ve taught him a trick or two,” he said.

“How adorable.”

Ellana smiled. A wry, teasing smile that made Cullen forget instantly about the slice of bread he was holding.

Lights, all lights, dulled in comparison to her smile. He had forgotten how it felt to behold.

How it felt to be beholden.

Ellana was the only woman who Cullen’s heart could not stop racing around no matter how much he tried to recall templar meditation and focusing techniques. No matter how many times he recited Chantry teachings that ought to cleanse his mind from all and everything but order and duty.

 _Five years,_ thought Cullen, the stew turning into slosh with each mechanical movement of his jaw. _And nothing’s changed. My feelings for you remain, as strong and undeniable as before._

_Does that mean yours also remain?_

_Do you still love him, Ellana? Does the Dreaded Wolf of your Dalish legends still own your heart? Has he devoured it fully?_

_Or have you finally freed yourself from his clutches?_

“Cullen?”

Cullen looked up from his food. He had been unable to find anyplace else to rest his eyes, at risk of peeking involuntarily at the lengths of exposed skin peering through the slits in the sides of the tunic that Ellana wore. At the tiny valley revealed by the wide neckline.

“I apologize,” he said quickly, his cheeks warming. “I must be weary still. Would you mind repeating yourself?”

Ellana gave Cullen a sheepish grimace.

“Sorry for barging in as I did,” she said, poking around in her half-finished stew. “I did not mean to come at such an ungodly hour.”

“But you meant to come?” he asked hesitantly when she would not continue.

Ellana nodded once.

“Yes.”

She had spoken quietly. Her mirth trickled away like the last patches of snow in the warm bloom of spring, which surprised Cullen. Never had he seen Ellana lose her cheer around friends. Or even enemies.

The explanation for her visit was not going to be a pleasant one. Cullen could tell. But before he could open his mouth to ask, Ellana continued.

“I know you have questions. A lot of them too, I’m certain. It’s been a long time since we’ve met and there’s so much to discuss… but please.”

Ellana’s piercing violet eyes softened. Resembling flourishing lavender blossom at the height of Ferelden summer rather than shimmering dragon scales reflecting the violent flashes of storm magic.

A school of magic that a certain ex-apostate had excelled in.

 _It would not surprise me if he used it merely to enhance the shine in her eyes_ , thought Cullen tersely. _If he told her he specialized in thunder and lightning only so he could watch his magic expressed in her eyes. To be the one responsible for such marvelous beauty, even in the heat of battle._

_It would be vainglorious. Bordering on narcissistic. Yet, I would not be surprised._

_Because if I could make Ellana's eyes dance in glimmer and might - in_ my _glimmer and might - I would do the same._

“I need some time. Some… rest.”

Cullen opened his mouth but closed it quickly again. He scrutinized Ellana, something he should have perhaps done as soon as he woke up, or when she had first shown up outside his cabin, five years absent, resembling a drowned returned walking.

Ellana appeared paler than Cullen remembered. Or perhaps that was just the impression he had been unable to dismiss ever since her tattoos had been removed. _Vallaslin_ , he believed she had called them during a conversation with Cole that he had overheard. Marks of blood and magic and tradition, in honor of the elven pantheon. Ellana’s had belonged to the goddess Andruil - a patron of the hunt and the wild; challenge and terror; sacrifice and luck. That is if Cullen recalled Ellana’s words correctly.

Without her tattoos, Ellana appeared much younger. Or rather, much more her age.

It was not something that Cullen had ever inquired about personally. He had found out through one of Leliana’s early-on reports, before the fall of Haven. He remembered how surprised he had been that the Dalish had sent someone so young, barely an adult, on a mission as vital as witnessing the Divine Conclave.

Eight years had done little to whittle that surprise away. Perhaps it was the elven way of aging with grace, but Ellana looked just as youthful as she had when Cullen first laid eyes on her after the brief conflict by the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes. When the smoke and embers and the stench of burning human remains had risen all around him. When he had almost been too absorbed in battle and adrenaline to notice her approach.

Ellana looked young. But then again, she was still young, by all accounts. She had been younger than everyone in the Inquisition, even Sera. Perhaps also Cole’s human form. She was a decade Cullen’s junior.

The rise and fall of countless civilizations younger than her beloved.

But Ellana looked far more exhausted than Cullen ever remembered seeing her, even during the busiest hours of the Inquisition’s first year. Even after the final battle with Corypheus and she had healed the sky in an unparalleled surge of alien magic. Elven magic.

Even after _he_ had left her. Thus, Cullen decided not to question her.

“All right,” he said simply.

Ellana’s lips formed a small smile. She put away the empty bowl, scraped clean, and drew the back of her hand absentmindedly across her mouth. The stream of breadcrumbs fell away and she appeared a touch sheepish again when her eyes found his.

“Thank you, Cullen. It shouldn’t be too long before I can satiate your curiosity. Perhaps a day or two.”

“Take what time you need, Ellana. You’re still wounded and may suffer a cold from yesterday.”

“Bah,” she uttered, flicking her hand dismissively his way. “I’m Dalish. I’ve stood watch during blizzards without so much as gloves or boots.”

 _I’m Dalish_. Was she that still, even though her tattoos were gone? Even though she had become a symbol of Andrastian faith and invested so much to launch Cassandra into the role of Divine Victoria? Even though elves from all corners of Thedas had started to slip away, disappearing from the face of the earth?

Cullen had so many questions. But in the end, he raised a simple brow.

“And you never caught a cold from doing that?” he asked.

“Plenty of times. But it is a hunter’s duty to protect the aravels and the clan.”

“Does that mean you are here on the call of duty?” asked Cullen after a long pause.

Ellana pursed her lips.

“Something like that,” she murmured, averting her gaze.

Cullen opened his mouth to respond, to say something that might alleviate the pain that suddenly painted Ellana’s features. But she was quicker.

“Anyway.”

She clasped her hands together and brightened, beaming at Cullen with curiosity. “What have you been up to, my former Commander? Nothing too burdensome, I hope.”

The question surprised Cullen. If he knew Leliana half as well as he thought he did after three years of close cooperation, serving the Inquisition as its highest-ranking advisors, he doubted that she would have let him out of her far reach, even after the disbandment. In fact, Cullen doubted that any previous member of the Inquisitor’s inner circle was more than an earshot away from one of the Nightingale’s many birds at all times.

Did that mean Ellana had diverged from the path that she, Cassandra and Leliana had set upon treading five years ago?

 _No_ , thought Cullen quickly as he studied Ellana’s face. _She knows. She’s heard it from the cold-hearted sister herself. But she still wants my version, for some reason._

“Well…”

Cullen readjusted the way he sat, leaning over his knee as he filled his spoon with soup. “After Halamshiral, I was granted some land and a fortress by the great grace of Divine Victoria. I created a haven for former templars, aiding anyone willing to wean off lyrium as well as providing a final place of rest for those too far gone.”

“Were there many of the latter?” asked Ellana gently.

Cullen nodded solemnly.

“Many died. And the withdrawal symptoms proved too challenging for some. But a lot of people also survived.” He caught her gaze and gave her a slow smile. “I encountered some of my former comrades from the Order. Both from Kirkwall and the Ferelden Circle. All of them made it through.”

Ellana returned his smile. “What a relief. What happened to them after they had been cured of Lyrium addiction?”

The sight of her smile made Cullen lose his thought for a beat, completely forgetting what they had been talking about. Or if they had even been talking at all. But then he caught up to it again, continuing to speak.

“They either resumed their templar duty or set off toward the Hunterthorn Mountains, endeavoring to join the Seekers. I remained only until I was sure that everything was working and they no longer had use for me. Staying inside castle walls had become too confining, both for me and for Atlas. We set off as soon as I was able to find a replacement.”

“Must have taken a while.”

“Why would you think that?” asked Cullen, raising a brow.

Ellana’s eyes were wide and honest as she responded.

“You would be a very difficult man to replace, Cullen. Whoever replaced you have some very large boots to fill. Not only because you have big feet.”

As if to prove her point, Ellana slid her foot next to Cullen’s. It was smaller than his but hardened and scarred from weather and terrain. From days in the wilds, hunting and foraging for the people she loved so much.

Still, it was beautiful. Like the rest of her.

“See?” She wriggled her toes, her eyes narrowing pointedly on his. “Enormous.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, even though her words made him blush.

“I don’t have that big of feet,” he muttered.

“Yes, you do. But I admit it is beside the point.”

Ellana tilted her head, looking every bit like the birds whose morning songs she had sung along with when Cullen first woke up.

“You’ve been doing incredible since the Inquisition was dissolved,” she said, sounding surprisingly pensive. “Just as I expected.”

“I--” he began awkwardly.

“And you’ve made a home for yourself here.”

Ellana swept her arm around, encompassing the cabin. “It’s a really nice and quaint place. Just the kind of homely abode I wished for you. You’ve even got yourself a faithful mabari. Only things missing are a wife and children. I…”

Her voice trailed away, muffled by the palms of her hands that suddenly covered her mouth. Covered all of her face.

“I’m sorry, Cullen. I’m so sorry. I’m going to ask you something unreasonable. Something you no longer should have to concern yourself with, ever.”

“Ellana?” said Cullen carefully, alarmed by her sudden change of demeanor. “What--”

“I’m sorry.”

Ellana exhaled deeply before she lowered her hands from her face. The smile she gave him seemed to bear a decade of exhaustion, accumulated throughout the years. A decade of sleepless nights, strenuous travel and never-ending pain.

And in a sense, she did bear that burden. She always had. Cullen had just not seen it before.

“Give me some time,” she said softly. “I will tell you everything, I merely… I merely require some rest first.”

Cullen regarded Ellana for a while. But then, he nodded.

What else could he do when the woman he loved was hurt?

“Of course,” said Cullen. “Take your time, Ellana. You might be sick soon. And you are injured.”

Cullen hadn’t realized how many aspects his final phrase could be interpreted. Not until Ellana’s smile widened, fragile and much too hurt to appear genuine.

“I am,” she said cheerfully.

* * *

Time passed. Although Ellana had told Cullen that she might need a day or two at most, two days quickly turned to three, then four, then five - then, a whole week passed without Ellana mentioning even the slightest detail about the purpose of her visit.

The uncertainty, the lack of knowing, gnawed away at him. But Cullen didn’t truthfully mind.

With Ellana staying at the cabin, he realized for the first time how alone he had felt since the disbandment of the Inquisition. And he realized for _not_ the first time just how strong his feelings toward her had become.

He wished Ellana and her smiles and laughter could be his. That he could embrace her every afternoon when she returned to the cabin with game and edibles from the forest, Atlas following her heels like an eager puppy. That he could hold her close every night when they retired for the day, Ellana using his bed after her cold had passed and she no longer needed to share body warmth with him and Atlas before the dying fire in the hearth. That he could kiss her every morning when he woke to the sound of Elvish sing-song and the twittering of birds.

That she would reciprocate and love him too.

But that was fool’s hope. A moronic fool’s hope. Yet, it was to that Cullen clung to when the week turned into plural. Weeks during which Ellana never spoke of her duty or what she had been doing the last five years. Their conversations relied heavily upon what Cullen had been up to, or the cabin and its surroundings.

His curiosity grew with each passing day. But Cullen didn’t ask. Patience - or perhaps cowardice - had become a dear friend of his throughout the years. He knew that Ellana wouldn’t stay indefinitely, hurtful as it was to admit.

She walked a fated path. Cullen could but chase after, hoping she might extend a smile toward him whenever she needed a back to rest on during her long journey. He could not do more, even though he wanted to. He could not carry her or mantle the responsibility in her stead.

Because Cullen knew that the journey, however miserable and painful and agonizing and exhausting, would end. Someday, everything would come to a conclusion. A finalé.

When that day arrived, Cullen would not be the man Ellana would be expecting at the end of the road. The person who had been waiting for her for perhaps millennia.

It would be her beloved Dreaded Wolf.

Foe as friend, teacher as student - lover as peer. Ellana saw a future beyond what Cullen could see. He noticed it in the way his words would sometimes elude her, her attention ensnared by something far in the distance. The way she sometimes sat quietly outside the cabin, seemingly absorbed in deep contemplation as she maintained her gear. The way Atlas would block Cullen from opening the shut bedroom door some nights when he thought he could hear the elf rogue whimpering and whispering, be it in her sleep or not.

There was nothing Cullen could do to change that. Yet, hope was loath to leave him. Wishful, naive thinking as well.

As such, when Ellana finally explained why she had sought him out, Cullen was more than ready to return from retirement and lift his sword. He was more than ready to lay his life at Ellana’s feet for any reason or cause - even for the man he had grown to despise. To hate.

Cullen had been ready. But he still couldn’t hide his surprise once Ellana had spoken.

“The Deep Roads?” he echoed. “You’re here to descend once more beneath the ground?”

Summer had reached the Storm’s Coast. Not that it meant any less rain than before - in fact, the weather seemed to have only worsened. Rain hailed the cabin from all sides, accompanied by a biting wind that whipped and howled from sunrise to sundown. Plenty of chopped wood logs crackled inside the hearth but Cullen was shivering where he sat in a chair, right next to the fireplace.

“Yes.”

Ellana sat opposite of Cullen in a chair of her own, reflecting a scene from years past when she had bid him goodbye in the Winter Palace after the Exalted Council. The flames danced in her piercing violet eyes, which remained locked with his, filled with determination and will. Atlas lay sprawled out between them, letting out small noises of contentment in his sleep as Ellana scratched him behind his ear with her toe.

“I…” She hesitated. “There is something I must find.”

“And that something is what precisely?” asked Cullen, furrowing his brows.

Ellana smiled stiffly. He could tell that she didn’t want to answer him. Guilt was written all over her face, like oil staining a water surface. He knew what her response would be a beat before she finally spoke.

“Red lyrium.”

Cullen set his jaw. He scrutinized Ellana’s face closely, trying to discern any of her usual ill-suited humor.

There was none.

“Why in the Deep Roads? I know we worked to destroy most of the deposits during the Inquisition days and that Divine Victoria continued where we stopped. But Emprise du Lion should still be infested with that wickedness.”

“I cannot risk detection, lest he finds out what we’re planning.” Ellana’s lips twitched. “The Deep Roads are dangerous, incredibly so. But that’s the only place I can be certain to evade his spies. And according to Scout Harding, there have been findings of red lyrium relatively near the entrance here at Storm’s Coast.”

 _He_. _We._ She was still working together with Cassandra and Leliana against Fen’Harel, and they had an idea. That was good to hear.

Red lyrium, not so much.

“What do you plan to do?” asked Cullen, frowning deeply in concern. “What good use might red lyrium have?”

“None. Which is why we need it.”

Ellana inhaled deeply, her eyelids fluttering shut. When she opened them, she looked as world-weary as someone twice her age.

“Ever since the elves started to withdraw from Thedas five years ago, Leliana, Scout Harding and I have been up day and night to try and figure out what he’s planning. Cassie was and still is too busy performing the duties of Divine Victoria, as well as rebuilding the Seekers, to be of much active help. As a result, it’s only been us three and what men and women Leliana and Scout Harding deemed worthy of our trust. I think we are fifty people at most at any point.”

Ellana smiled when she noticed Cullen’s brow rising.

“I know,” she said. “We’re few. And resourceless compared to the days of the Inquisition. But we’ve managed to set up a well-functioning network all across the Tevinter Imperium where we’ve been mounting our influence. No news or rumors slip us by.”

“Tevinter?” echoed Cullen. “Why there?”

“The Imperium is powerful and old. It would do us only good to find allies among the Magisterium that might be able to help us in our cause. And though I’m sure Vivienne would disagree, Tevinter births Thedas most powerful mages. Knowledge of magic and its many secrets is invaluable, especially considering who our foe is.”

“But it’s Tevinter,” said Cullen, eyes narrowed. “They destroyed your people thousands of years ago and still prey upon you, using you for blood magic and slavery. How can you bring yourself to cooperate with them?”

“They are not all monsters, Cullen,” said Ellana, cooling considerably. “If I had believed in nothing but the prejudice among my clan, I would never have helped the Inquisition during its early days. I would have considered all humans, even children and elderly, rapists and pillagers. Savages I needed to either flee from or kill in order to exact vengeance for all the injustice my people have suffered at the hands of yours.”

Shame stained Cullen’s mouth. He swallowed vainly in an attempt to remove the taste.

It didn’t work.

He knew he could say nothing on the topic of mankind’s cruelty on elves both from the cities and the wild. But he refused to believe that Ellana would willingly want to align herself with slavers and the descendants of the mages who had destroyed what the Dalish held so dearly.

“But there still exists blood magic in some capacity,” said Cullen hesitantly. “And slavery. Elves die every day in Tevinter, do they not?”

Ellana pursed her lips as she folded her legs to her chest, resting her chin between her knees. Her leg had healed, giving her no trouble as she readjusted.

“I do not like it,” she said quietly. “In fact, I hate it. I know Leliana agrees with my views. But I cannot let my feelings blind me from the bigger threat. Once that is dealt with, I can try to invoke change. But currently, we do not simply have the time or resources necessary for such an enormous undertaking.”

Cullen could feel the hurt in the elf rogue’s tone. It ran deep rivers through her voice, despite her best attempts at hiding it, probably out of respect for him.

Fleetingly, Cullen wondered how Ellana would have been as a person if she had believed that all humans were evil. Would she have put an arrow in Cassandra’s back and fled the area as soon as the Seeker had freed her from her shackles when the elf had first been captured? Or would she have bided her time, waiting until she could destroy the Inquisition and all the revered good-will earned from her title as Herald of Andraste in one, fell swoop? Would she have manipulated the members of the organization and watched them tear it asunder from within?

Would she have been on the Dreaded Wolf’s side in this war that was sure to come?

Cullen would like to think that Ellana would never have betrayed the Inquisition, no matter what she had been told growing up. No matter how much hate had been fostered within her. That she, good and wise and strong and curious as she had proven to be, would have opened her eyes eventually and realized the error of her ways and decided to lead the diverse Inquisition wholeheartedly.

But he wondered if she wouldn’t have been happier if she had hated everyone in the Inquisition. If she never had developed her comradery with her inner circle; long evenings drinking and playing Wicked Grace with Varric; suggestive but light-hearted commentary when hitting Iron Bull with a stick after a particularly risky mission; a motherly penchant for coming up with ways for Cole to help, which always brightened the spirit’s severe mood; exchanging stories of culture and family when sparring with Cassandra; trying to learn woodworking from Blackwall in the stables; playing practical - far too practical jokes - on everyone with Sera; tense but contemplative talks over tea and dessert with Vivienne; training in diplomatic - and honestly quite civilized - ways by Josephine; training in not so diplomatic - or civilized - ways by Leliana; snorting so hard with laughter that had echoed throughout Skyhold whenever she and Dorian spoke, which had been often and at very great lengths.

Cullen wondered if Ellana wouldn’t have been happier if she had been alone. If she had only had the familiarity of Solas - the elven apostate who had possessed more lore about her people than herself. If she had tied a relationship to nobody but him so that she wouldn’t have been forced to choose between him and them.

Cullen would have preferred that. Even if the price for her happiness would have been the fall and destruction of his, her companions and advisors lives - and all of Thedas. If only so that she could be happy.

If only so that Cullen wouldn’t have to sense the hollow in her heart that he would never be able to fill no matter how hard he tried to.

“I see,” he said finally, realizing how difficult it had to be for Ellana to try and seek allegiances among men and women who openly abused her kindred. “But afterward…”

Cullen’s voice trailed away. He didn’t know if there was going to be something after Ellana had dealt with the Dreaded Wolf. Not necessarily because he feared she might fail - he believed in her capabilities, strong and strong-willed as she was like no other.

Rather, Cullen feared there might be nothing left of her soon.

“Afterward, I will try to change it.”

Ellana gave him a small smile. “Elves have been treated far too unfairly all across Thedas.  Other races too. That needs to change.”

“I agree,” said Cullen truthfully, recalling his memory of the Warden-Commander, the Heroine of Ferelden. An elf as well, Neria had been far more austere and solemn compared to Ellana when she encountered him in Ferelden’s Circle Tower. But she had been no less dignified or elegant, even though Cullen had accused her of blood sorcery. She had saved his life when he had doubted and insulted her, and that was something he would never forgive himself for.

Prejudice was hard to rectify. Injustice, too. But if Neria had managed to change his views on mages and elves with but an act, Cullen had no doubt Ellana could do it too and on a far greater scale.

“I see.”

Ellana sighed and relaxed, allowing her feet to the floorboards once more. Atlas nuzzled against her ankle before he fell asleep again, snoring breathily into her foot.

“What’s your plan for the red lyrium?” asked Cullen tentatively, knowing that she was intentionally avoiding the subject.

The muscles around Ellana’s jaw tensed. Her piercing violet eyes had disappeared somewhere far away again and her fingers dug into the armrests of the chair. She was as taut as the bows she so loved to draw, a step away from launching a lethal arrow through the air. When she finally spoke, her usually so cheerful and bright voice sounded as brittle and easy to snap as the twigs that accumulated on the forest floor in autumn.

“We cannot hope to defeat him in battle,” she whispered, her gaze unfocused. “He is far too powerful. We need something to neutralize his magic.”

“I remember reports during the Inquisition’s first initiative into Emprise du Lion,” said Cullen, mind whirling with thoughts. “Red lyrium does seem to possess some quality of resistance against magic. But it’s poisonous, lethal - and it drives people mad. You cannot hope to build some kind of magic-resistant armor or weapon with it, Ellana. Not without forfeiting your sanity and body alike.”

And he would rather die than let that happen.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Cullen.”

It took him a moment. But when Cullen realized the true meaning of Ellana’s words, his jaw nearly fell open.

“You cannot mean--” he began.

“I do.”

Ellana swallowed. She stared down at her lap, her arms wrapped around her torso, seemingly in an attempt to contain herself.

“It’s not something I would wish on anyone,” she whispered. “Especially not him. But we don’t have any other choice. He has to be stopped. He cannot destroy the world.”

“But Ellana--”

“I cannot let him become a monster.”

Ellana’s voice had quivered, vibrating like the final note of an Orlesian opera. If it was in hurt or fear or both, he did not know. But it pained Cullen to hear.

Almost as much as it pained him to hear what she said next.

“Cullen.”

When Ellana looked up, she wore a smile. It was her regular smile, the one that caused his heart to race and his face to warm.

That’s what made it so much more horrifying to hear her continuation.

“We agreed that I was the only person suitable to descend into the Deep Roads on my own. We did not agree that I should dally and stay with you for as long as I have. I’m sure Leliana has a thing or two to tell me right now but it wasn’t planned - I had intended to move along as soon as I had recovered.”

“Without telling me anything,” mumbled Cullen, unable to hide his dismay.

Ellana’s smile widened. “Without telling you anything. But I couldn’t do that. Partly because you deserve more than to wake up with nothing but questions and an empty bed. Partly because I have something I wish to ask of you.”

Trepidation settled in Cullen’s stomach. Venomous like a snake’s bite and just as unpleasant.

“And that is?” he asked.

“Would you be willing to accompany me into the Deep Roads?”

Cullen almost laughed. Both in relief and happiness.

“Of course,” he blurted.

 _I’d follow you anywhere_ , he blurted not.

Relief settled like a blanket over Ellana. However, she wasn’t fully relaxed, her smile a touch too strained still.

Cullen dismissed it as the same weariness he had caught on her face on more than one occasion. The kind of fatigue that had nothing to do with aging. He told her to retire, that he would take care of the dishes and the fire before the height of the eve. Ellana appeared to have something else to say but caught herself at the last moment and did as he bid, disappearing into the bedroom after a quick smile.

From what occurred during their venture beneath ground, Cullen wished dearly that he would have had the courage to ask. To pry. Then maybe he wouldn’t have followed her.

Maybe he would have been able to save her.


End file.
